Sometimes I feel....

like throwing my hands up in the air......  one of my all time favourite songs alongside "Everybody Hurts" - the REM version that is, together they pretty much form the anthem of my life......"when you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on....no, no, no, you're not alone". 

And on that depressing note.

My writings are becoming more and more sporadic which is in part due to my increasingly hectic lifestyle combined with the recent departure of my sense of humour, or GSOH as the single ads might say.   I just do not feel like being funny anymore and rather think that I now belong to the group of women referred to as grumpy and old.    It has finally come to my realisation that nomatter what I may embark upon in life, it will never quite be as I wish it,  and therefore there is in fact very little to laugh about. 

Yesterday I visited Leicester, more specifically Chris's parents, for a BBQ.  My first of the year and in true British fashion one necessitating the introduction of several umbrellas part way through.  At this point I must remind my darling friend Mezza (who emigrated to Oz two years ago and is now feeling a little homesick) that there is truly very little here to miss.  Just crappy weather and even crappier politics.  Of course I'm guessing it is the people she is actually missing as opposed to the location, but quite frankly the people are probably highly overated too.  As the proverbial saying goes "absence makes the heart grow fonder" a statement which could be further endorced with the words "because you forget how bugging people are".  So cynical I know, yet true.

It is and always will be my belief that death is the only dignified exit from any relationship (not just the romantic kind) and the only one wherein a person's memory is left untarnished.  I have every confidence that were I to find myself beneath a big red Birmingham bus this afternoon my faults and failings would be completely overlooked, my talents in this life grossly exaggerated and my obituary several hemispheres removed from the truth.  If I live to collect my state pension however (assuming of course that such a thing will even exist then) I shall no doubt eventually be on the receiving end of the mandatory naming, shaming and blaming process which befalls all parents when their children finally mature in to adulthood.   We all much prefer to believe that our flaws were a creation of poor nurturing rather than face the fact that just maybe we are naturally quite horrid.

Getting back to my original point though.  My visit to leicester.  During which we managed a conversation on the pros and cons of cosmetic enhancement.  Without naming names, all the females at the table were inherently dissatisfied with some aspect of themselves, be it flat-chestedness, gargantuan thighs, acne scars or facial wrinkling.   The males naturally could find no fault with their looks although I could definitely have named a few.   Its tiresome isn't it that there exists no resolution to the beauty burden we women carry....we are simply bred to feel like poop.

Saying that we have only oursleves to blame for getting sucked in by it all.

Only a few days ago I was wandering through the town centre desperately trying to find some high street fashion to feel good in.  As there has not yet been an outfit invented which can make you look three sizes smaller, five inches taller and ten years younger all at the same time, the venture was doomed to failure from the outset.  A fundamental component of the clothes buying process is appraising yourself in the mirror.  So after trying on copious amounts of lambs clothing which barely even fit and looked utterly ridiculous, this piece of mutton ended the session in a fit of self loathing.  I have mentioned before how I often feel surprised when catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.....in my head I'm totally J-lo, whereas in the mirror I'm more Jo Brand.  I therefore feel clothes shopping should be reserved for those who either absolutely love themselves, or those who are partially sighted.

So the shopping spree was a total flop which, based on my bank balance, was actually a positive outcome.  Also positive was the somewhat Scrooge-esque moment I had whilst in Marks and Spencer.  Just at the point where I was bewailing my physical misfortune when compared to the likes of Beyonce and particularly grieving over my vertical challenges, a lady dwarf walked past.  My first pang of shame hit.  Within two more minutes I encountered a very physically disabled gentleman in a wheelchair and  felt the same shame increasing, then just moments later I saw a woman who had clearly lost her hair through some kind of cancer treatment and thus my shaming process was complete.  How can I be so self absorbed?

That feeling of provoked gratitude lasted for a couple of hours.  Pathetic I know.  I sometimes wonder though had we been privy to Ebenezer's lifestyle ten years after his ethereal visitors had left, would he be continuing in his newly found benevolence?  Probably not.  No, I think if we are lucky we retain a portion of the "lessons" we learn, gradually changing one fragment at a time.  So it's  a long slow process and as another saying goes "a leopard never changes it's spots" but I am certain that with age those spots do begin to fade.

One day it is my ambition to work overseas amongst communities where disease and poverty are a way of life.  I would love to attribute this to my deep rooted Christian beliefs and a desire to do good to all men, but in truth I feel I need it for me as much as anyone else.  I want to live somewhere I can forget all materialism, my pathetic quest for physical perfection and my selfish desires and find out who I am beneath it all. 

For now though it's a case of another well known phrase......" When in Rome..."

xx